Vanity, Revisited
by murph8484
Summary: A missing scene from Vanity, Says the Preacher, Bill Maxwell becomes embroiled once again in the liberation of a South American country. Rated for mild adult language, mild violence, and mild adult situations.


_This fic is a missing scene from "Vanity Says the Preacher", based on some innuendo that perhaps Francisco, the oldest of the DelVerra sons, was actually Bill's. Whether you think that innuendo was actually intended or not, I thought it would be interesting to explore._

_Disclaimer: Oh, and btw, I know I don't own the characters, Steven Cannell does. Please don't sue me! I'm just a fan. :-) _

* * *

"So, he's mine, isn't he?"

The words hung in the air.

Bill watched his former love's eyes travel downward to the floor, as she played at struggling with the truth. Clearly, she wanted him to know, and this was one of the worst acting jobs he'd seen since Tony Villacana's attempt at Shakespeare. Bill had developed a soft-spot for that young punk, but Maria DelVerra's acting was wearing thin.

He couldn't stand it when a dame tried to manipulate him! Though, he had to admit, up until now, he'd never thought of Maria DelVerra as 'a dame'. Sure, a day or so ago, before the DelVerra clan had liquored him up, drugged him, and shanghaied him, he had been struck speechless seeing her again. Maria always had a way of making his knees turn to water.

Bill couldn't decide if he hated what they'd done or himself more.

Now, thinking about young Francisco, who certainly resembled him on the outside, but was so different on the inside, Bill Maxwell thought his chest would explode. Ralph would tell him to take deep breaths or do some kind of anger management hippie psycho babble therapist junk.

Wonder what those egg heads would say about this? We're electing you "Man of the Year" – oh, and by the way, there's someone we want you to meet?

His chest continued to tighten, when she turned to face him.

"Bill… you know Roberto never suspected…" Maria began. "No one knows…"

Her elegant demeanor was betrayed only by the fact that Bill knew she was lying.

"That's a bunch of garbage, Lady," he cut her off. "That kid knows. He's known a long time, and that's why he's out to prove something." He grimaced and rolled his shoulders. "Everybody knows. You people wouldn't tell the truth, if Old St Peter was standing right next to you."

Bill paused, considering how it must have been for Francisco, as much of a little creep as he was. Did he wonder why his kid brother was named after his father and not him? Did people talk about how much he looked like 'Wild Bill Maxwell' in the newsreel - the one they played over and over again? Old ladies yammered on about this stuff all the time. How much did he hear, and how pissed off did he get?

"Did the kid have to figure it out on his own, or did someone finally tell him?" Bill asked through gritted teeth.

Sinking down into a leather couch, feeling out of breath, he sat quietly for a few long moments.

"You should have told me," Bill finally said softly.

With that, Maria DelVerra's eyes flashed. She stared at him with an air of superiority and defiance. "And what would that have done? I was to marry Roberto! We had a country to build! It was a complication - it threatened all of that!"

He gazed back, completely taken back by her response.

Still, Maria raged, clearly fueled by long ago justifications and internal rationalizations.

"I made no call on you! And you were free to go on your way to be with whomever and become … whatever … it is that you've become," she waved her hand dismissively. "Un Federale…"

Bill didn't miss the sarcasm about his job. But, her first words, they were the ones that echoed in his head.

_I made no call on you._

He stared at his feet, remembering.

Years after he'd returned from South America, married to a beautiful young wife, Bill only wished "that call" had been made on him. Coaching little league games, taking the kids fishing, lecturing them on bad report cards… all that stuff… His wife had teased him about what kind of a Dad he'd make. She said that she hoped they'd have boys, because she didn't think he could handle girls.

He would have handled any of it, if they'd been that lucky.

But, it wasn't to be.

His wife had got sick, and it had torn him up like no bullet, no knife or bad guy ever could. He couldn't lose anyone like that again.

And now, he watched as Maria poured herself a drink, sitting down opposite from him.

How would he have felt if "that call" had been made on him, much earlier, from a country far away?

Bill then found himself looking into Maria's eyes, trying to find the girl he had been so crazy about all those years ago. Once again, he was caught speechless. Only this time, with her self righteous stare boring into him, it was due to how much he didn't know her anymore.

Later, taking a sip from his bourbon, Bill considered sadly, maybe he never knew her at all.

**Thirty years earlier…**

The train hadn't been a pushover - not like they'd been told.

Federales had caught them by surprise, and as a barrage of bullets greeted them, Bill felt one tear through his shoulder. Spinning around, he was caught by Roberto and dragged out of the train car. Manco, the Indian, was at their heels.

"Billy, hang on now, compadre," Roberto assured him in his broken English. "We'll get you out of here and be back to camp in time for breakfast. You like Maria's flapjacks, si? You showed her? Bill? Keeping talking to me…"

Bill could hear the fright in Roberto's voice, but wasn't able to focus on it. He figured he must look bad, blood everywhere…

"Don't worry…" Bill gritted his teeth. "Leave me, if you have to…"

"No go, Guillermo. We like, how you say, the Marines… We never leave anyone behind…" Roberto huffed as he half carried, half dragged him.

Thankfully, it seemed like someone else was now helping, taking the strain off of his shoulder.

"Mi compa', we'll have to jump," Manco yelled, somewhere down around his feet. That's right, Manco must have his feet. Roberto was now up near his head, with his arms hooked under Bill's shoulders.

With the bullets flying, there wasn't much of a choice. They had worn out their welcome on the train. It would not be their night to "raise funds" for the resistance. And, they didn't have time to be too picky about their exit either.

Next thing Bill knew, they had launched off the train and in the early morning light, were falling down a hillside. If he hadn't already been shot, he would have felt the resulting bruises and the scrapes, but his nerve endings were already too overwhelmed to read the input. Eventually, he felt himself jerked to a stop, Manco's strong arms grabbing his ankles.

But, the relief was short-lived.

"Get him! Get him!" Manco yelled, prompting Bill to look up from his pain filled haze to see Roberto slipping off the edge of the cliff, directly ahead of them.

With all of the strength he could muster, Bill grabbed Roberto's hand and did his best to hold on. Manco anchored Bill, holding on to his ankles, but the Indian couldn't be much help, as Bill felt the full brunt of Roberto's weight pull on his already abused shoulder.

Consciousness fading, Bill prayed with everything he had. I can't let him go over. I can't let him go over. Please don't let him go over. His best friend and leader of the Resistance, the hope of many people in this country – his life was literally in Bill's hands. Only, holding Roberto in that position would have near impossible, without a bullet wound and the rapid blood loss.

As Bill became less aware of the here and now, Roberto's hand began to slip from his.

He heard Manco's cry just as he passed out.

**1983**

"Did you ever marry?" Maria's question shook him out of the memory from years before. Bill could still feel Roberto's hand.

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Yes," he said simply.

"I'm sure your wife would not appreciate this situation."

"No. But, she would have understood."

"She is gone now?"

"Yes," Bill answered.

"You probably had many sons and daughters. What do you want with mine now?"

Bill didn't respond. If truth be told, he really didn't want much to do with the snot-nosed kid, who was so full of himself. But, he felt a sense of obligation.

As much as he wanted to walk away, the whole family was headed into a buzz saw. The entire country saw this family among the ruling class, keeping the citizens poor, while they prospered - Much the same way that the rebels regarded the corporations years ago.

There would be a rebellion against the 100 families, of which the DelVerra's were considered to be. And, this kid, full of piss and vinegar, if left on his own, would lead the charge in the spirit of "his father" – only to be cut down in the cross-fire, while his real father stood by and did nothing.

How could any son of his end up being so stupid?

**Thirty Years Earlier…**

"Bill, just be quiet. The fever just left you this morning…" Maria pleaded, as he tried to get up.

She had been with him, since Manco had dragged him into the campsite. Upon hearing of Roberto's loss, Maria had done nothing other than care for Bill. Through Manco's best attempts to close up the bullet wound, and Bill's resultant infection and delirium, Maria had not moved from his side.

He didn't know how much she blamed him, if she blamed him. Everyone knew that someday Maria would marry Roberto.

"We have to look for him…" Bill grunted, reaching for his shirt, which he just now realized was mostly covered in blood.

"Como se dice, en ingles, estupido?" Maria murmured, almost under her breath.

Bill's head snapped around to look at her. "Stupid?" He answered, not quite believing his ears.

She did blame him then.

"I'm sorry, Maria," he said quietly, lying back.

"He is dead." she replied flatly. "I know that place, and Manco already went back. There was no sign that he had escaped the fall. He would not have survived it. And, you will kill yourself scaling that cliff to try to bring back what's left of him. Then, we will be having two funerals…"

She shoved the washcloth back into the pail of cool water, ringed it out, and then proceeded to wipe the sweat from Bill's face and neck. All the while, he searched her for signs of anything other than anger. When her eyes began to soften, he reached for her hand.

"Stop… stop…" He said, taking the washcloth. "I'm okay. You don't need to do this."

Her eyes began to well up, and she took back the washcloth. "Yes, I have to," Maria maintained.

"When Manco brought you back, you were more dead than alive. You were bleeding and we almost lost you. We thought you were going to die… like… like… Roberto…"

As if the floodgates had opened, Maria's tears began to flow, and despite the pain from his wounds, Bill pulled her toward him, resting her head against his chest. Although he would never admit it to anyone else, his own eyes began to sting, as he comforted Maria, and thought about how much he'd miss his best friend.

**1983**

As Bill thought back, it didn't take much to understand how the two of them came together. They both missed Roberto and wanted liberate the country from those greedy sons of bitches. The fact that she was drop dead gorgeous, and affected him like no other woman had, might have had something to do with it.

Still, Bill had tried not to think of her that way. She was Roberto's. However, as she helped him to get back on his feet over the next several months, their close friendship developed a tension. He wasn't surprised the night she came to his tent or the nights that followed.

Manco knew it had become more than friendship between Bill and Maria. Typical of an Indian, he didn't talk about it, and others pretended not to notice. Such that when Roberto showed up three months later, claiming temporary amnesia and having survived by falling to a ledge, there was no question that Maria would return to him. Within weeks, they would proceed with the liberation, and Maria and Roberto would marry.

Bill wouldn't know that Maria and Roberto's honeymoon baby was born a month early. Once Roberto returned and the job was done, Bill knew he couldn't stay – despite what was accomplished. He went home.

"You never considered what you might have left behind, Bill." She said bitterly. "You left us, went on to your life in the United States. You did not look back."

He stared back at her hard, "You married Roberto! What did you want me to do?"

"Wild Bill Maxwell," She shook her head. "I knew the right woman would settle you down some day. How you say, a white picket fence, children? You were able to walk away. I did not."

The question that was left hanging in the air was whether he would walk away now?

They sat in silence for a few long moments, until the door opened and revealed Dr. Romero, young Roberto, and in back of them, Francisco.

"Mister Maxwell, we have something to show you," the dark young visage of himself intonated, beckoning Bill to follow. "You can not turn away from this," he snapped.

As he met the young man's eyes, Bill didn't like him. He didn't like what this kid had become, and he didn't trust him.

Still, now that he knew who this kid was, Bill was less inclined to abandon him to this idiocy. While he doubted there'd ever be a tearful mushy family reunion - the kid was just too far gone, Bill couldn't help feel somewhat responsible.

Wherever he was going, Bill would try to be his rear guard… if the punk kid would let him…


End file.
